Howls of renewed wrath went up from Devil's Row throats. 
Tattered gamins on the right made a furious assault on the gravel
heap.  On their small, convulsed faces there shone the grins of
true assassins.  As they charged, they threw stones and cursed in
shrill chorus. 

The little champion of Rum Alley stumbled precipitately down
the other side.  His coat had been torn to shreds in a scuffle, and
his hat was gone.  He had bruises on twenty parts of his body, and
blood was dripping from a cut in his head.  His wan features wore
a look of a tiny, insane demon. 

On the ground, children from Devil's Row closed in on their
antagonist.  He crooked his left arm defensively about his head and
fought with cursing fury.  The little boys ran to and fro, dodging,
hurling stones and swearing in barbaric trebles. 

From a window of an apartment house that upreared its form
from amid squat, ignorant stables, there leaned a curious woman. 
Some laborers, unloading a scow at a dock at the river, paused for